


Where the Heart Is

by placentalmammal



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preston, Hancock, and the Sole Survivor have settled into a happy, poly relationship to raise Shaun. Valentine's Day treat for <a href="http://thewordmurder.tumblr.com/">thewordmurder</a>, featuring her SoSu, Princess. Contains minor spoilers for Fallout 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Heart Is

Hancock woke at ten; early for him, late for most everyone else. Preston was still asleep beside him, snoring gently, head buried underneath his pillow. Princess and Garvey had come home from some Minutemen errand at three the night before, falling into bed in a tangle of limbs and muttered curses. They settled into the old mattress like a pack of hound dogs and fell asleep in a heap, arms draped over shoulders or wrapped around waists, three pairs of icy feet pressed together for warmth.

Princess was gone, and Preston had spread out to more effectively occupy her third of their shared bed. Hancock reasoned that she’d probably gotten up early to eat breakfast with Shaun and make the rounds to check on the generators and turrets. He sat up, stretched, and visually confirmed that her Pip-Boy wasn’t on the bedside table. Definitely awake then, not kidnapped by Synths or Brotherhood of Steel agents in the night. Unless they were very considerate Synths or Brotherhood of Steel agents. Very considerate and very quiet, to have kidnapped the Minutemen’s general without disturbing either Preston or himself.

Stifling a yawn, Hancock rolled out of bed and reached for his discarded trousers. It was still early, but it was already oppressively warm, so he ignored his frock coat and padded out into the kitchen, barechested and barefoot.

Shaun and Princess were sitting at the kitchen table, listening to a poorly-tuned radio. Princess was cleaning some piece of scrap with a stiff wire brush; Shaun was completing the maze on the back of a cereal box. He brightened when he saw Hancock, waving and calling out a cheerful greeting: “Good morning, Johnny!”

Hancock opened his mouth to reply, but Princess shushed him and gestured at the radio with her brush. Hancock picked a few words and phrases out of the jumbled static: “top of the second,” “at bat,” and “RBI.” He nodded in understanding and made his way across the room, pausing to kiss Princess on the cheek and ruffle Shaun’s hair.

Somewhere in upstate New York, someone had assembled a baseball league. They broadcast their games on the radio, just like in the Pre-War days. Even though the signal was weak and difficult to parse, Princess never missed a game.

She worked with a look of intense concentration on her heart-shaped face, brows drawn down over her dark eyes, tongue poking out between her lips. Shaun had inherited her brown eyes and warm brown skin, but he had his unknown father ( _Mohammad,_ Hancock reminded himself, twisting the gold band on his finger _his name was Mohammad_ ) springy, tightly curled hair. Cute kid, for a terrifying and unholy amalgamation of science and technology.

They all tried not to think about it too much.

Hancock took a bowl from the cabinet, stole the cereal box from Shaun (he protested, and his mother shushed the both of them, frowning in a “don’t-make-me-count-to-three” way) and poured himself a bowl of very stale Sugar Bombs. He pushed the box at Shaun, sat down next to Princess, and watched her hands while he ate. Her hands were blunt but skillful, square palms and short, calloused fingers. She’d played baseball back when; her athleticism had served her well as the General of the Minutemen. She cut an imposing figure: taller and broader than most wastelanders, arms and legs corded with muscle. It was her smile, though, that stood out: warm and genuine in a way that few could afford to be. When they met for the first time at the gates of Goodneighbor, Hancock had noticed her physique first, but he’d had remembered her smile.

In the hallway, the other light of his life was stirring. A few minutes of thumping in the bedroom and bathroom, and Preston emerged, radiant and freshly scrubbed. “Mornin’,” he said, brightly.

Hancock waved, Princess nodded, and Shaun returned his greeting. Princess shushed them all again, and Preston looked to Hancock, brows raised. John mimed hitting a baseball and shrugged; Preston nodded in understanding and made his way to the coffeepot. He kissed Hancock and Princess in turn, then awkwardly patted Shaun on the shoulder and took the final unoccupied seat across from Princess. Hancock ate his cereal and pretended he wasn’t staring at Preston’s ass; Princess ignored them all and focused intently on the radio.

They passed an idle morning clustered around the kitchen counter, working on individual projects and cheering or groaning appropriately when one of the baseball teams scored a run. Once or twice, Princess scowled at some change in the rules and began muttering about “ _real_ baseball.” Hancock waited until she was distracted and rolled his eyes theatrically, prompting sniggers from Shaun and Preston. Princess silenced them all with a scowl.

The game ended just before 1PM. Princess had worked her way through her entire backlog of salvaged tech. She’d cleaned each piece and sorted everything into three neat piles (keep, sell, and scrap) while Shaun got his chessboard out and beat each of them in turn. The kid was some sort of genius; spent all his time reading chess books and practicing gambits and stratagems. Shaun adored Fahrenheit; the two played together and talked shop whenever Princess brought him to Goodneighbor. Hancock was already beginning to worry about a coup.

 _Goodneighbor could do worse than Fahrenheit and a genius ten-year-old synth_ , he thought. _Much worse._

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “If anything happens to me--”

Preston interrupted and said “Don’t talk like that” at the same time Princess said “It won’t.”

“--Just hear me out!” Hancock says. “If everything goes to shit--sorry Shaun--I think the kid should take over Goodneighbor. He’d make a good mayor.”

Shaun brightened. “Really?” He turned to Princess. “Can I, mom?”

Princess glanced from her son to Hancock and back again. “When you’re older,” she said. “Maybe.”

“Come on mom, please?”

Princess sighed and Preston hid a smile behind his hand. “We’ll talk about this later,” she said. “Right now, I need to go on rounds and check the generators.”

“But moooooooooom--”

“Later,” she said firmly. “Shaun, stay here with Preston. Hancock, come with me. We need to talk about why we don’t promise political power to ten-year-olds.”

Preston laughed openly, a quick burst of amusement that he quickly stifled when Princess turned her glare on him. “Come on kid,” he said, trying very hard to keep a straight face. “You heard the lady. Let’s take care of these dishes, huh?”

Shaun’s expression was mutinous, but he made no further protest. Sullen in only the way a ten-year-old can be, he gathered up the dirtied plates and cups and carried them over to the sink. He and Preston went about the work of washing up while Princess and Hancock pulled on their shoes and swept out into the still mid-August afternoon, bickering good-naturedly as they made their rounds, nodding at the neighbors and checking on the progress of the maize crop.

When they returned fifteen minutes later, the breakfast dishes had been washed, dried, and put away. Shaun had exchanged his chessboard for a battered copy of Blast Radius. He’d already set up the board on the kitchen table and moved four player tokens to the starting positions. “Play with us?” he said eagerly, his bad mood already forgotten.

Hancock agreed immediately, even promised not to cheat, but Princess held out. “I don’t know,” she teased. “I’m pretty busy. I heard there might be another baseball game on.”

Shaun groaned. “Come on, mom! You _already_ listened to a whole entire baseball game this morning. I was quiet and everything!”

“I can’t argue with that logic,” she said, taking the seat beside Shaun. “I guess I have to.”

Hancock sat between her and Preston, held both of their hands under the table while Shaun explained how to play, sober as a judge. They’d all played a thousand times, but the kid liked rules. He checked in frequently to make sure they were all listening, and concluded his lecture bright-eyed and breathless. “Any questions?”

“Got it,” said Princess. “Thanks, little man.” Shaun beamed with pride and took the first turn, pulling the spinner and moving his pawn, chatting animatedly about Grognak. While he talked, Hancock glanced around the kitchen. Salvaged appliances, carefully curated matching dishware, mid-afternoon sunlight pouring in through the windows, painting the scene in brilliant gold. Outside, generators hummed while one of the settlers pulled weeds in the little garden plot. Shaun told a joke, Princess and Preston laughed. He squeezed Hancock’s hand at the same time Princess leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, and Hancock smiled.

 _This is it,_ he thought. _The good life._


End file.
